


The Bruxa

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Nightmares, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, and emotions, im really mean to jaskier in this you guys im so sorry, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: “Geralt?” the strained voice had him whipping round, raising his sword again.There was Jaskier. And behind him, with one clawed hand fisted in his hair and the other wrapped tightly round his throat, was a Bruxa.She was watching the Witcher with dark eyes, forcing the Bard to move with her as she circled him.Scarlet blood shone on her ghoulish lips and Geralt could see the deep gash on the Bard’s neck where she had fed from him.Geralt had to force himself to stay where he was. If he rushed the Bruxa, she would tear Jaskier’s head clean off. On the other hand, if he did nothing, Jaskier would bleed out and die.“I’m sorry,” Jaskier rasped, then inhaled sharply as the monster tugged at his hair, jerking his head back to shut him up.This was between her and the Witcher, and she intended to make him pay for what he had done to her pack.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 297





	The Bruxa

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

“Jaskier! Get down!” the Witcher thundered as the Bard’s head popped up yet again from his hiding spot behind a crumbling wall.

Jaskier shot down and Geralt swung his silver sword at the screaming creatures soaring above his head.

When he had learned that the local town was being plagued by a pack of Bruxae, Geralt had been very tempted to turn down the coin and move on. 

It was Jaskier who had insisted he take the job, babbling on about reputation and Ballads and expectation and the like, so Geralt had agreed to take the job just to shut him up.

Damn that Bard.

Geralt ducked the slashing claws of one of the huge bat-like creatures and cast Aard into the swarm to try breaking them up a little. The wave of telekinetic energy pushed the Bruxae out of their tight formation and Geralt was able to pick off a few that had been separated.

He had fought Bruxae before, but never so many a once. They were a particularly vicious type of vampire with an uncanny resistance to sunlight that delighted in torturing and tormenting their victims for weeks before feeding. And Geralt had barely escaped with his life.

This time, he didn’t just have himself to worry about but also the idiot Bard, who had followed him out to the ruined fort like a lost puppy. 

He brought down another of the monsters with a quick slash of his sword and it crashed down dangerously close to where Jaskier was crouched.

The bard jumped back as its long claws lunged for him and Geralt threw his sword at its writhing body.

The Bruxa died with a shudder and Geralt snatched his sword back as the swarm above his head tightened again.

He grabbed Jaskier by the scruff.

“Seen enough? Get out of here now,” he snarled in the Bard’s face.

He practically threw Jaskier from the battle and watched him linger for a moment before turning and running, disappearing in the dark.

Geralt grunted.

He narrowly dodged a swooping beast, catching it by the leg and ripping it out of the sky. The Bruxa tore out of his grip, snarling, and advanced on him, changing its form to that of a beautiful, pale woman with long dark hair. She screeched at him, the warbling noise pulsing through the air and knocking Geralt back. He covered his ears as he struggled to get up, desperately trying to block out the song she was weaving in her native language. 

A second Bruxa joined her side, this one too as a young woman and joined in the warbling. He was lucky he wasn't susceptible to their influencing magics. 

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed.

He sucked in a breath and charged at the women, cutting both down as he barged past them.

Again, he cast Aard into the sky and the Bruxae lost their attack formation.

He felt pain sear across his shoulders as one of the monsters crashed into his back and dug its claws into him. The Bruxa’s thrashing wings beat around his head, and the Witcher was wrestled to the ground.

In a flash, the Bruxae descended and Geralt was buried under screeching bats and feral woman, each trying to sink their fangs into his flesh. 

He stabbed and slashed with his sword, drenching himself with dark blood as he fought off the attack.

This was it. This was how he died.

Suddenly the hoard of monsters backed off him, garbling and growling in confusion. The Witcher, soaked in Bruxae blood, stood, wondering what was happening.

The creatures stalked around him, jittering and squawking, flaring their nostrils as they danced about him.

Geralt understood. He smelled like them. He knew they would quickly muddle through the confusion so he took advantage of the distraction and killed as many Bruxae as he could reach.

They screamed at him, not sure what to do as their numbers dwindled until one of them jumped back into the air. The rest followed, circling high above the Witcher and then they made their retreat, heading towards the mountains.

Geralt was breathing hard. He looked down at himself, covered in dark blood.

“Fuck,” he made a half-hearted attempt at wiping it off but quickly gave up. 

He crouched down to slide his silver blade through a patch of moss to clean it. As he rose, he heard a noise behind him.

“Geralt?” the strained voice had him whipping round, raising his sword again.

There was Jaskier. And behind him, with one clawed hand fisted in his hair and the other wrapped tightly round his throat, was a Bruxa.

She was watching the Witcher with dark eyes, forcing the Bard to move with her as she circled him.

Scarlet blood shone on her ghoulish lips and Geralt could see the deep gash on the Bard’s neck where she had fed from him.

Geralt had to force himself to stay where he was. If he rushed the Bruxa, she would tear Jaskier’s head clean off. On the other hand, if he did nothing, Jaskier would bleed out and die.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier rasped, then inhaled sharply as the monster tugged at his hair, jerking his head back to shut him up.

This was between her and the Witcher, and she intended to make him pay for what he had done to her pack.

She ran her claws over Jaskier’s Adams apple, taunting Geralt into action.

Geralt didn’t have a lot of time. Jaskier was pale and trembling, his life trickling away in the blood running down his neck and staining his clothing.

The Witcher made a decision, and he hoped to the Gods it was the right one.

He threw his sword. But not at the Bruxa.

The weapon soared over her head and into the wall behind her. The force knocked a few stones loose and they tumbled down, narrowly missing the Bruxa.

“Come on,” Geralt pleaded as the monster looked up at the sword sticking out of the wall.

The mortar around the sword cracked, lines flashing in all directions. The wall started to crumble. The stones and debris started to rain down on her.

She lifted her hands to protect her head, letting go of Jaskier who fell to all fours. 

As soon as the Bard hit the ground, Geralt cast Aard straight at the Bruxa. She was slammed into the wall and it collapsed on top of her, burying her.

Geralt let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He rushed over to Jaskier, clamping a hand over the wound on his neck to slow the bleeding. He hooked his other arm around the Bard’s waist and hauled him to his feet.

Jaskier clung desperately to Geralt as he was guided through the fort.

“I told you to go,” the Witcher growled.

“And I did,” Jaskier’s voice was reedy with pain, “but then I came back. I couldn’t just leave you Geralt.”

“You’re a fucking fool,” Geralt snarled.

He didn’t mean to be so harsh, but his own fear and worry were threatening to choke him as he took more and more of the Bard’s weight as he weakened.

Jaskier made a noise of protest as Geralt scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way to Roach, but let his head fall against the Witcher’s chest.

Geralt placed one of Jaskier’s hands over the bite telling him to press as hard as he could.

Roach greeted them with a snort as they approached. She sensed the urgency rolling from her master.

Geralt lifted Jaskier onto the chestnut mare, then swung himself up.

“Come on Roach, with haste,” he spurred her on and she launched into a gallop.

“Stay awake Jaskier,” he called to the Bard whose head was lolling with the motions of the horse underneath him.

Jaskier groaned, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s back, hand still clamped on the bite.

“Come on Roach,” the Witcher encouraged.

They thundered into the town, Roach’s flanks heaving with the effort, and Geralt sprung off her back, gathered Jaskier in his arms, stomach dropping when he felt how cold Jaskier was, and hurried towards the healer’s hut.

He kicked down the door in his haste.

“Healer!” he roared.

A small man appeared in the doorway.

“Witcher!” he squeaked.

“Help him,” Geralt gruffed, knowing what a sight he must look, covered in Bruxae and Jaskier’s blood.

The man indicated the bed in the corner and Geralt placed Jaskier down gently. Jaskier’s heartbeat was very weak and he was slipping into unconsciousness. 

“Bruxa?” the healer took a quick look at the wound on the Bard’s neck.

“Hm,” Geralt’s amber eyes flashed.

“Did you stop them?” the man quickly searched his shelves for the potion he was looking for.

“Yes.”

“Good. I wont charge you for his treatment,” the man paused, “though someone will have to pay for my door.”

“Fix him,” Geralt snarled, “I’ll sort your fucking door when he wakes up.”

The healer crouched next to Jaskier, popping the cap off a vial and pressing it to the Bard’s lips.

“Come on son, drink this. Everything will be okay,” he hummed softly.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered from the vial to Geralt and Geralt nodded. He drank it quickly. The small man watched him for a moment then left his side to organise some herbs.

The Bard slipped into sleep and Geralt paced the room.

The healer sat next to Jaskier again and smeared a paste into the wound on his neck, then very carefully pressed a damp cloth over it.

“He shouldn’t have been there,” Geralt grumbled to himself.

“Why was he there?” the man raised his eyebrows at him.

“Because…I’m his…friend.”

“You need to take better care of your friends,” the healer frowned, then suddenly realised who he was talking to and cowered away from him.

But Geralt bowed his head in shame. 

“I know,” he watched Jaskier sleep, guilt gnawing in his chest.

The man looked at Jaskier then back at the Witcher.

“Did you kill the one who did this to him?” he asked.

“Yes,” Geralt folded his arms.

The healer nodded, rising from his perch on the bed and crossing back to the door he had entered through.

“I’ll come and check him in the morning,” he sighed, then disappeared.

***  
Geralt hadn’t slept. 

After cleaning up, he’d spent the rest of the night alternating between pacing and sitting.

The morning sun streamed through the window and the new light woke Jaskier.

He grumbled and Geralt was immediately by his side.

“Jaskier,” he hummed, his deep voice rumbling with a hint of affection and relief.

“Geralt? What happened? Where am I?”

“You were attacked by a Bruxa,” the Witcher blinked slowly at him.

Jaskier sucked in a breath as it all came rushing back and Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Morning,” the healer bustled into the room and shooed Geralt out of his way so he could study the Bard.

To Jaskier’s surprise, the Witcher moved and stood by the window, still watching him.

The man pushed Jaskier back onto the pillow and peeled the now dry cloth off his neck. The herb pack came away with the cloth revealing a nicely healed, though somewhat ugly scar on his pale skin.

“Good, very good,” the healer smiled “I wouldn’t try singing just yet, give yourself a few days rest first but everything looks fine.”

“Thank you,” Geralt grumbled, “I’ll come back to fix your door when I’ve settled Jaskier in the tavern.”

“I’m holding you to that, Witcher,” the healer narrowed his eyes at him before leaving the room again.

Geralt helped Jaskier up and, after a wobble, was satisfied that he was steady enough to walk without support.

As the Witcher lead him out of the hut, Jaskier looked around at the door hanging off its hinges and the crack in the doorframe.

“What happened to the door?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Come on Bard,” the Witcher gruffed.

***  
Although still slightly uncomfortable in the neck area, Jaskier recovered quickly and the two had set off again, two days after the attack, in search of their next adventure.

With no particular destination in mind, Geralt kept the journeying easy, making sure to have an eye on the Bard at all times.

Jaskier was walking next to him as he sat astride Roach, strumming his lute and practicing a few scales, testing his voice.

“I don’t think I’ll write a song about the Bruxae,” Jaskier mused as he plucked the tight strings.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Almost dying has given me some perspective,” he glanced up at the Witcher who kept his stoic gaze on the road ahead.

“Life, well my life anyway, is far too short and I want to enjoy…everything, while I still can,” a soft smile twitched his lips.

“Does that mean no more tagging along on hunts?” Geralt tried not to sound hopeful.

Jaskier sighed.

“You get your wish. I’ve resigned myself to the boring waiting game at the tavern, writing songs about second-hand stories,” he huffed, “Besides, I’m too much of a distraction out there anyway. One day I’ll get you killed.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt was a little taken aback.

“Don’t deny it Geralt. It’s why you always try to leave me behind when you go off galivanting after a monster,” he touched the scar on his neck subconsciously, “I wish I had listened.”

“I’m just trying to protect you Jaskier. I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” the sincerity in the Witcher’s voice took them both by surprise.

“Right. Good,” Jaskier chewed his bottom lip.

He looked up again at his friend and worked his jaw.

“And so you should. Where would you be without me eh? Still the hated Butcher of Blaviken.”

“Hm,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier started humming Toss A Coin, fingers gliding over his lute and a slight bounce to his step.

Geralt just rolled his eyes.

***  
They made camp under an overhanging rock.

After a good meal of bread and meat and weak ale, Jaskier had curled up on his bedroll and drifted off to sleep.

Geralt stoked the fire, glancing at Roach who was nibbling on grass a few feet away. 

He settled on his back looking up at the rock above him, ignoring the slight chill in the dark night air. 

It wasn’t long before his eyes fluttered shut and he let sleep take him.

***  
Geralt woke with a start.

The fire still smouldered in its pit, giving enough light to see by, and the moon was still high in the black sky.

Unsure what had disturbed his sleep, he tried to settle again but quickly realised something was wrong with Jaskier.

The Bard was trembling, drenched in a cold sweat and his breathing was ragged. Geralt could see he was still asleep and shook him.

Jaskier jumped awake, eyes wild, breath sobbing in his chest. It took him a moment to focus on Geralt who was leaning over him, as his breathing eased, and his pulse slowed.

“Jaskier?” Geralt frowned at him.

“I’m fine, I’m… just a bad dream,” he took a shaky breath, settling back on his bedroll.

“Hm,” Geralt moved back to his own bed, concern tightening his chest.

He listened as the Bard fell asleep again and stayed awake the rest of the night to watch over him.

***  
Jaskier had been out of sorts the next day. Still babbling on about whatever popped into his head, but there was an underlying tension to him that unnerved Geralt.

When they set up camp again, this time in a copse of trees, the Witcher watched Jaskier closely. 

The Bard strummed his lute, sounding out lyrics for his next song and scribbling in his notebook and when his eyes became too heavy to concentrate any longer, he gave in to sleep and curled up under his blanket.

Geralt dosed on and off throughout the night, trying to keep his hearing tuned in to Jaskier’s breathing.

As the moon began it’s decent down the sky, Geralt snapped awake and rushed to Jaskier’s side. The Bard was twitching, whimpering, sweaty and rigid.

Again, Geralt shook him awake and Jaskier jolted up, fear and panic tainting his young face until he realised where he was.

The Bard didn’t fall asleep again that night, just lay quietly, his blue eyes glazed and unfocused.

***  
Jaskier refused to talk about the nightmare the next morning and Geralt tried to hold back his frustration.

He noticed Jaskier scratching at the scar on his neck and had to tell him more than once to stop it.

Jaskier told him to fuck off and Geralt wanted to put his foul mood down to tiredness but knew there was something seriously wrong.

They stopped in a tavern the next night and Jaskier played his lute and sang with wild abandon, drinking more than his fair share and flirting his way through most of the patrons. Eventually Geralt was able to prize him away from his adoring fans and push him up to their room.

The Witcher had made sure he got them a room with two beds so that he could stay close to Jaskier.

Reluctant but exhausted, Jaskier finally crashed on his bed and started snoring gently. Geralt hoped that he had tired himself out enough to sleep through the night.

But he didn’t. Geralt had to wake him from another nightmare, this one worse than the last. Jaskier had screamed and thrashed and it took the Witcher far too long to bring him back to wakefulness.

Tears streamed down Jaskier’s face as Geralt just held him to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around him.

He knew what was happening, and he was angry with himself. He should have checked that the Bruxa was actually dead. Now Jaskier was suffering and it was his fault.

He rested against the wall as he cradled the Bard, trying to formulate a plan.

He had to track her down and kill her. It was the only way to free Jaskier from this torment. It’s how they hunted. She had connected herself to him with her bite and was manipulating his dreams, torturing him into madness, and when he eventually snapped, she would come back to feed, finishing him off.

Geralt felt the tremors wracking the Bard’s body finally eb as he fell asleep, tucked safely in Geralt’s arms.

The Witcher glowered at nothing in particular knowing that the longer this went on, the harder it would be for Jaskier to bounce back.

They would have to go back to the ruined fort, now three days in the opposite direction. It would be hard going, especially for Roach if he wanted to get there with speed.  
He could leave Jaskier behind, but that was absolutely out of the question. The Bard needed him right now. Once he knew what was happening to him, he would be scared and Geralt needed to be the one who looked after him. Jaskier would deteriorate quickly and he hated the idea of trusting his care to someone else. Besides, the best way to draw the beast to him would be to have Jaskier by his side.

Geralt sighed, his chest tight, his stomach churning. They’d have to set off at first light and Geralt set his amber gaze on the window, counting the hours till dawn.

***  
Geralt had explained everything to Jaskier as they rushed breakfast and collected their belongings. Jaskier, of course was terrified, Geralt could practically taste it, but the Bard was trying to hold on to his dignity and forced himself to remain calm for Geralt’s sake.

The Witcher was grateful. If Jaskier had panicked, it would have made their journey ten times more difficult.

They both sat astride Roach, Geralt keeping her at a steady trot with Jaskier sitting behind him.

Geralt was tired, but he knew Jaskier was edging sleep deprivation. 

The Bard still refused to talk about his nightmares and Geralt was uneasy in his uncharacteristic silence.

As the sun began to set, Geralt looked for somewhere to make camp. He chose a sheltered alcove half hidden by pine trees and dismounted.

Jaskier stayed where he was, watching as Geralt dug a shallow pit for the fire and set up the bedrolls and blankets. 

Eventually he slid off Roach and joined Geralt by the now cracking fire. 

Geralt offered him some bread but the Bard flinched away.

“You need to eat Jaskier, keep your strength up,” Geralt grumbled, pushing the bread into his hands.

To keep Geralt happy, he took a few small mouthfuls and forced them down with a deep drink from his water skin.

“Try to get some sleep,” the Witcher rumbled softly.

“Don’t want to sleep,” Jaskier mumbled.

But try as he might he just couldn’t stay awake. Geralt made sure he was warm by giving him an extra blanket then settled with his back against a tree.

As the night went on and Jaskier slept soundly, Geralt began to let his guard down and snatched some sleep for himself.

It was near dawn when Geralt was woken by Jaskier’s screaming.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shook him.

The Bard was struggling to catch his breath and he threw himself away from Geralt as he was violently sick.

His whole body shuddered and Geralt’s heart broke for him. Strange and unfamiliar emotions torrented through him and it was all he could do to not let out a sound of anguish.

Geralt caught Jaskier before he collapsed on the cold forest floor and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sobbed, “I want them to stop. Please. Make them stop.”

***  
Their journeying the next day was slower than the previous due to Geralt wanting to pace Roach so she could travel for longer.

Jaskier was sick with a fever and Geralt had fed him some herbs from his pack to help ease the pain. 

It was a little past midday when Geralt sensed something was very, very wrong.

Heat was coming off Jaskier in waves and as Geralt turned to him, he fell off Roach’s back, hitting the ground hard.

Geralt halted his horse and leaped off her.

Jaskier was convulsing, his body twisting this way and that, his eyes darting all over the place.

For the first time, Geralt felt panic. He was frozen over Jaskier not knowing what to do and how to help him. For the first time, he realised that Jaskier was probably going to die. Even if they did make it to the ruined fort before Jaskier lost his mind, the fever was burning through him, and he still had to track down the Bruxa and gods knew how long that would take. Then the horrible though struck him that the worse Jaskier get’s the closer she would be.

Geralt shook himself and took hold of Jaskier’s shoulders.

“Jaskier,” he called, “It’s me. It’s Geralt. Come back to me Jaskier. Come back.”

Jaskier’s eyes focused and his face darkened with fear.

“No! No!” he screamed trying to scramble away, “Please don’t hurt me, leave me alone.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gruffed, “No one is going to hurt you.”

Jaskier keeled over in the dirt, breath ragged, cheeks stained with tears.

“Geralt?” his voice was so small and so scared that Geralt had to choke back his swelling emotions.

“They are everywhere Geralt, I can see them. They bring death wherever they go. So much blood, so much pain,” his voice broke on the last word and he closed his eyes, “She is coming for me Geralt.”

Geralt’s slow heart beat quickened.

“She’s coming? Now?” he growled.

“No,” Jaskier sobbed, “but I can’t hold on much longer.”

He was suddenly very still and Geralt placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. Jaskier jumped at the contact and Geralt snapped his hand back.

“We need to keep going,” Jaskier forced himself to try standing up.

Geralt helped him and he half carried, half dragged Jaskier back to Roach, waves of fear and anguish and anger rolling though him.

***  
As night crept up on them again, Geralt slowed Roach as he assessed his surroundings to make camp. They would reach the ruins tomorrow evening if he pushed Roach hard enough.

“Geralt,” Jaskier suddenly piped up.

“Hm.”

“Do you need to sleep?” Jaskier asked.

“No. Don’t think I could sleep anyway,” the Witcher frowned.

“Then don’t bother stopping for camp.”

“But you need to rest – “

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

A shiver went down Geralt’s spine at the Bard’s words.

“Jaskier – “

“Just keep going Geralt. I can feel her. In my head. Pulling and unravelling me. I wont sleep tonight. I’m afraid I won’t wake up if I do.”

***  
The ruined fort loomed in the distance as Geralt spurred Roach onward. 

He could feel Jaskier’s laboured breathing as the Bard leaned against his back and silently begged him to hold on.

He could feel the unnatural heat spiking off Jaskier in waves as his fever drove him towards delirium.

He could feel the weakening of his pulse. He could feel the terror. He could feel the pain. He could feel… everything. And it made him angry and frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to stop Jaskier’s suffering.

He let his anger work through every muscle, every fibre of his being. It gave him strength, and with what awaited them ahead, he was going to need it.

He halted Roach outside the ruins, slid off her, patted her nose and praised her, then helped Jaskier down.

As he had carried the Bard out of these ruins all those days ago, so now he carried him back in.

He propped Jaskier up against a vine covered wall opposite where he had buried the Bruxa in stone and inspected the rubble. It indeed looked like something had burst from under it and he cursed himself again for not making sure she was dead.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered.

The Witcher was kneeling by his side in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” the Bard’s voice quaked.

“No, Jaskier – “

“If I hadn’t insisted on coming along, none of this would have happened,” Jaskier had curled his fingers into Geralt’s sleeve for support.

“No. I’m sorry,” Geralt brushed the pad of his thumb against the Bard’s tear stained cheek and Jaskier leaned into his touch, “I act like you’re such a burden on me. But the truth is I want you with me. You’re my friend Jaskier and every moment you’re not with me is the most boring moment of my entire life.”

Jaskier smiled.

Geralt took in his pale face, how the sweat beaded on his forehead and his hair plastered to his skin. How his usually bight and mischievous blue eyes were dull and bloodshot. How his soft lips were dry and cracked. How he shuddered with every breath. How scared and vulnerable and hurt he was.

He wasn’t going to let Jaskier die. Especially not like this. The Bard deserved so much more and Geralt decided in that moment that he was going to give it to him. He was going to kill this monster, save Jaskier’s life and then spend his days making sure Jaskier lived a good, happy and fulfilled rest of his.

Jaskier grimaced. 

“She’s here,” he whimpered.

Geralt stood as he turned and sure enough the bat-like creature was stalking over the rubble towards them. As it got closer it transformed into the beautiful woman. She looked hungry and her eyes were fixed on Jaskier.

The Witcher charged at her, silver sword held ready to strike. The Bruxa dodged him and sped straight for the Bard. 

Geralt caught her with a quick backwards slash and the monster tumbled to the ground, blood seeping from the cut on her leg. She turned on him, bat-like again and lunged.

Her stench filled his senses as she screeched at him, beating her wings as he avoided her sharp claws.

He managed to stab her where her left wing joined her body and she shrieked, knocking him down with a swift back hand.

Again, she raced towards Jaskier and he desperately cast Aard, knocking her off course. 

If she reached him it would all be over. Geralt wouldn’t be able to stop her draining him lighting fast, leaving him cold and dead as she made her escape.

Geralt was upon her again as she scrambled to gain footing, slashing with his sword and dancing out of range of her attacks.

She pounced on him, bowling him over and her teeth snapped at his neck. Suddenly the Bruxa stopped, a strange rasping sound coming from her throat. Geralt looked down to see his sword pushed deep into her chest. 

One last attempt to reach Jaskier, crawling off the Witcher, screeching as she went. Geralt stood behind her and with a mighty swing, took her head clean off. Her body slumped to the floor.

Geralt turned to Jaskier who had his eyes closed and was barely breathing.

“Jaskier? You’re going to be okay now, it’s over,” he took Jaskier in his arms and carried him out of the fort.

***  
Jaskier’s fever broke in the night and for the first time in days he slept, not plagued by nightmares.

The healer Geralt had taken him to before had been rather surprised to see them again but had quickly helped when he saw Jaskier in such a bad way.

Geralt dosed in a chair next to Jaskier, refusing the healer’s spare bed so that he could keep an eye on his Bard.

Jaskier slept solidly for two whole days and when he did finally wake, he was confused.

“Haven’t we done this already?” he frowned, looking about him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

Jaskier’s breath hitch in surprise but he welcomed the warm contact and returned the hug.

When the Witcher pulled back his amber eyes were brimming with tears.

“Woah, hey, hang on,” Jaskier reached out for him, “Are you crying?”

“No,” Geralt growled, letting Jaskier rest a hand on his arm.

“Were you that worried?” Jaskier tried to hide how genuinely touched he was.

“Hm,” Geralt blinked at him, “How do you feel?”

“Like shit. But I’ll get there,” he smiled softly at the Witcher.

“Jaskier I’m so sorry – “

“We’ve done this already too. You’re sorry, I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure the healer’s sorry too. Not sure what he’s done yet, but I’ll figure that out later. Guilt all around. Can we please just move on and put this behind us? Learn from out mistakes and never, ever, ever, ever repeat them again?”

“That’s the most sensible thing I think you’ve ever said,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier feigned hurt and gasped.

“Excuse you, but I think you’ll find I’m full of sensible suggestions. You just need to start listening.”

Geralt let him talk, smiling and listening and revelling that the Bard was alive and he promised himself he'd be there to make sure he supported Jaskier as he recovered. He had almost lost him. Twice in such a short space of time. And he knew that he never wanted to feel that scared or helpless ever again.


End file.
